


Remember The Alamo

by buttmaster



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Wild Historical Innacuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttmaster/pseuds/buttmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonus Round 1 fill for the HSWC.</p><p>"Bro/Dave<br/>Remember the Alamo?<br/>(...or at least the Striders' reenactment?)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember The Alamo

Dave awoke with a start. It was hard not to, given that there was suddenly music blaring loudly in both ears. No. No. It was Johnny Cash.

'One hundred and eighty were challenged by Travis to die.'

Oh no, no.

'By the line that he drew with his sword when the battle was nigh.'   
Dave sprung upright, slapping the computer speakers off of his pillow, crouched in a defensive stance, looking for the calendar. February 23.

'Any man that would fight to the death--'

Dave tore the wires from the backs of the speakers, the sound crackling and cutting off. How was it February 23rd already? And why... oh why... could Bro just... not remember the Alamo?

A voice called from the living room, preceded by a trumpet. It was a miracle they haven't been evicted from the place yet. "Come on, little bro. Gotta attack me. Y'allre the British this year. I'm Texas."

Dave didn't mind this historical reenactment. It was actually fun... once it got going. But fuck if this wasn't a shitty way to wake up. Bro made him miss school for this.

'You don't need school, Dave. Not today. I can teach you all about The Alamo.' It was Strider tradition, right up there with the Pizza Roll turkey on Thanksgiving and storing smuppets in the goddamn microwave.

"This is Commander Randy Travis! Are y'all British cowards gonna come out and learn not to mess with Texas or what?"

"Let me put on some pants first, Bro, Christ!" Dave grabbed some jeans and pulled them up, hopping up and down to make the going easier.

"Y'all banger-eating bastards'll learn not to pee on the Alamo, I tell you what!"

Dave grabbed the hilt of his sword and pushed open the bedroom door, only to be met with a high velocity smuppet to the face, plush rump first.

"Direct hit, David Bowie! Load the next cannon!" David Bowie, major of the Texas Rangers and inventor of the Bowie knife, played today by Lil' Cal, grabbed another smuppet. "Knock the coonskin cap right off his head, Dave!"

Dave rubbed his eyes and looked out around the doorframe. "What?"

"Not you! I'm talking to Major Bowie, Dave. Jeeeesus, try to keep up."

"Well, who am I again?"

"Davy Crockett! Scourge of the wild frontier? Shit, dude, Disney made a show about him. I think. It came on Sunday mornings at like... 4AM when I was a kid."

"We can't have two Daves. With me also being Dave. Can I be someone else?"

Bro let his smuppet hurling arm relax and popped up from behind the couch, thinking. "Okay, you can be Antonio de Santa Banderas. Spanish conquistador and spy for the British. Y'allre trying to get into the Alamo basement and get the secret plans for David Bowie's cool knife he's working on. Now are you fuckin' set over there or what?"

"Yeah, I'm set. Ready to take on the Alamo with hardened Japanese steel."

"From QVC."

"Yes, clearly, but I'm leaving that part out because QVC wasn't around back in 1916. Hell, Bro. Come on."

"Yeah, but I'm just sayin' go easy on that shit because I dropped like $40 on it."

Dave rolled his eyes and was surprised when another smuppet was hurled his way, slashing at it in mid-air, the blade sticking in the proboscis before Dave shook it free.

"Randy Travis, my blade will taste blood this day!" Dave was in full on terrible stereotypical British accent now. "I will avenge the King of Gondor!"

"Have at y'all!" Dave was up on the couch know, pointing a rapier upward, leaving a slice in the ceiling, jostling the overhead fan.

Dave lept forward, slashing at Bro as he parried, sending Dave's blade into the couch cushion. "Don't be so confident, Travis! You'll be singing a different tune when the French arrive!"

"Ha, don't make me laugh! Little do you know that Roosevelt and the Rough Riders cut 'em off at Cannonball Run!"

Dave gasped in shock. "But they were in Cuba!"

"Y'all fell for that ruse?" Bro kicked a leg out, hitting Dave in the chest, knocking him back into the coffee table, which lost a leg. The casualties of war. Though it was already stuck on with duct tape to begin with.

Dave tucked and rolled, popping up and grabbing David Bowie from the couch arm, holding the sword to his neck.

"Easy there, Crockett..."

"Banderas."

"Easy there, Banderas. Don't do anything rash now. Bowie's a good man. Got a family. His son Tom is gonna be a dang astronaut. So, just put him down."

"The plans for the knife, you cowpoke."

"Alright now. Lemme just go get them." Bro dropped down behind the couch. "But ain't you heard? Everything's bigger in Texas." He popped up, holding a broadsword with both hands, which he smashed downward, splintering the table further and barely missing Dave's leg.

"Holy fucking shit, Bro! What the actual hell!"

"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker." Bro went for another swing.

"Time out!" Bro stopped, frowning, as Dave felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. "Not cool."

"Ugh, whatever, little dude. Oh well, we can move to the grand finale anyway. I gotta grab the Roman candles, you bring David Bowie and the fried chicken in the fridge and meet me up on the roof."

"Firefight and victory lunch?"

"Bingo. I'm fucking starved."


End file.
